


Nothing By Halves

by lyricalsoul



Series: Mycroft's Valentine [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mycroft is a sex machine, implied m/m sex, post-sex, the morning after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:35:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalsoul/pseuds/lyricalsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after Lestrade steals Mycroft's heart, there are discussions to be had. Because Mycroft is a man with a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing By Halves

**Author's Note:**

> Epilogue for the Mycroft's Valentine series. And continued in Mycroft's In Love. Go read that next!

“You should be made aware that I do not do anything by halves.” Mycroft is standing at the foot of the bed, twisting his cufflinks into place.

Lestrade lifts his head slightly. “Do you have to talk right now?” He feels like someone is doing River Dance on his frontal lobe, and the rest of him…well, the rest of him feels like he’s been run over by a steam roller. “Give me about…hmm…ten days before I’m coherent again.”

Mycroft leans over him, running his hands along Lestrade’s back and hips. “Are you hurt? Was it…did I…”

“You don’t do things by halves,” Lestrade groans. “I know that now. My hips know, my back knows, my… entire lower continent knows. Can you shut up about it?”

“Not what I was referring to, Gregory.”

Lestrade shifts over to his side, his head hanging partially off the bed. “Look at us, look at your bedroom. Then talk to me about halves.”

“Very untidy,” Mycroft observes. Clothes are scattered on the floor, there’s an empty champagne bottle in a bucket of water, the carpet and bed have bits of rose petals on them, and on the night stand, there is a heart-shaped box of chocolates with a few of the more decadent pieces missing. “I have things to say, Gregory. Can you please listen?”

Fuck. Lestrade rolls over and props his aching head in his hand. “I’m a good chap, and it was fun, right? You’re a busy man, and don’t have time for all this. Thanks for the shag, mate.” He gathers the sheet, along with what's left of his dignity, and rolls out of bed.

It would have been a flawless exit had he counted on Mycroft’s quick reflexes. He didn’t, and finds himself face down on the floor, sans sheet. “Ow!”

Mycroft tosses the sheet aside with a flourish. “If you would cease talking and listen!”

“Sorry.” Lestrade crawls over to the bed and rests his chin on the mattress. “You were saying something about not doing things by halves.”

“Yes. Well, I was wondering if you would like to continue seeing each other in…this…capacity?”

“Capacity?”

“Vein? Scope? Light?” Mycroft mulls it over for a moment. “I am out of my depth here. Perhaps you could lend a hand?”

“You think too much.” Lestrade stands up. “Talk too much, too.”

Mycroft swallows at the sight of the man standing unabashedly stark naked in the dim light of his bedroom. He catalogues every scratch and bite mark on his chest, the half-moons of his own nails in those sturdy biceps, and a vivid red bite just above his collar bone. No, nothing by halves at all. “I seem to have lost the ability to focus. What were we saying?”

“You,” Lestrade moves around the bed to stand behind him, “were saying that you would like to continue to be my valentine.”

“Valentine’s Day is over.”

“Mardi Gras is right around the corner,” Lestrade says, nuzzling Mycroft's ear. “You think there are cards for Fat Tuesday?”

 Mycroft shivers at the tongue lapping at his outer ear. “It doesn’t matter what day it is. I am now a captive of the essence that is you, Gregory. What am I to do?” He sighs. “I am hard-pressed to let you go.”

Hard-pressed, indeed, Lestrade thinks, remembering the hammering he took while pinned against the bedroom wall. “Well, who says you have to? We can be whatever you want. I meant what I said last night.”

“You said many things last night. Most of them involved obscenities and pleadings for me to do things to you with my hands, tongue, and your handcuffs, if memory serves.”

He blushes at the memory of being held down and Mycroft licking him from head to foot. Repeatedly. “Can you blame me? All that unbridled passion and unwavering focus directed at me." His lips graze across the nape of Mycroft’s neck. “I meant it when I said I’ll take you anyway I can have you. What are you proposing?”

“I am not an easy man to… be with. In any capacity, for lack of a better word.  I work odd hours, and though I excel at multi-tasking, it will take some time for me to fit you into my life at a level with which you are comfortable.”

“Blasted Holmes-speak.” Lestrade moves around him, and sits back on the bed. “So, what does that mean in plain English? What do you want, Mycroft?”

Mycroft’s eyes rake over Lestrade’s gorgeous body, naked and open, and his for the taking. “You.”

“You’ve got me already. Don’t overthink it, and stop trying to micromanage it. I have a job, too, you know. I’m not looking to give it up and become your fancy piece in the sheets. Besides, who will look out for Sherlock if I leave the Yard?”

“Let’s not mention Sherlock while you’re in my bed naked.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t want a ‘fancy piece”, Gregory. I want… an honest man, who is also sexy, and tough, and can deal with all that being with me entails. Are you that man?”

“How many times do I have to say yes?” He leans forward, grabs the sides of Mycroft’s waistcoat, and tugs him on top of him. “I’m going to muss you.”

“You most certainly are not. I have a breakfast meeting in fifteen minutes.”

“Well, that’s no good,” Lestrade says with a long sigh.

“Oh.”

“The meeting. You’re going to have to stop being so literal.” He plants a kiss on Mycroft’s neck. “I’ll stay, if it won’t be inconvenient.”

“Never inconvenient.” Mycroft looks into those eyes, and is immediately distracted by thoughts of warm chocolate and chilly nights… “You are horrid for my concentration.” Reluctantly, he moves away and stands.

“So… we’re settled then?”

“We are. You stay here, get some sleep. Please still be naked when I get back.”

“Won’t your…staff mind?”

“I don’t have a staff. There are people, but they’re usually with me. Make yourself at home. If you need anything, use the white phone.”

“Right…” Lestrade yawns and tugs the sheet over his hips. “Need something, use the red phone.”

“Gregory…”

“Teasing. Can you imagine if I used the red phone and asked the Russian premiere for beans on toast…?”

“No.” Mycroft tugs his waistcoat back into place, and rights his hair. “Behave, Gregory. Please.”

“Until you get back. Then, all bets are off.”

“Right. I’m off then.”

“Don’t start any wars over toast, Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Anything-By-Halves.”

“Yes, dear.” Mycroft took up his jacket, gives Lestrade one last wistful look, and leaves.

Lestrade watches him go. Nothing like a man with untried passions who doesn't do things by halves. He burrows his head under the pillow. He was going to need all the sleep he could get.

 

Continued in Mycroft's in Love


End file.
